


Like Real People Do

by goodomensblog (just_quintessentially_me), just_quintessentially_me



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Falling In Love, Gentle Kissing, Humor, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Kissing Prompts, Love, M/M, Pining, Prompt Fic, Romance, Rough Kissing, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-15 03:19:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19287052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_quintessentially_me/pseuds/goodomensblog, https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_quintessentially_me/pseuds/just_quintessentially_me
Summary: "Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips. We should just kiss like real people do." - HozierAziraphale x Crowley kissing prompts requested on Tumblr.1. One person stopping a kiss to ask “Do you want to do this?” only to have the other person answer with a deeper, more passionate kiss.2. Cleaning the other person’s lips with a lick and a kiss.3. Kissing in a stairwell, giving them an artificial height difference.4. One person pouting, only to have it removed by a kiss from the other person.5. A kiss so passionate, so perfect - that after they part, neither person can open their eyes for a few moments afterwards.6. Kissing tears from the other’s face.





	1. Reverence

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: One person stopping a kiss to ask “Do you want to do this?” only to have the other person answer with a deeper, more passionate kiss.
> 
> Or - Aziraphale is tempted to stay in bed.

Dawn broke. Orange and ethereal, it crept over the unsuspecting city. 

In towering spires, great brass bells twitched and groaned as they were awoken. Roused, they creaked, shuddering reluctantly into motion. Brazen and bellowing, the church bells tolled, calling home the flock.

In a dark room, ensconced in warm sheets, an angel and a demon reluctantly woke.

The mattress dipped, and the soft, sinfully warm sheets shifted as one of the sleepers rose, shrugging off blankets and the lingering remnants of slumber.

Below, dutiful parishioners left their homes.

Aziraphale would join them. 

A warm hand, however, slithered from the sheets. Arm encircling the angel’s waist, Crowley stopped him before his toes could brush the floor.

“S’early,” he murmured, arm constricting, “And cold. Angel, c’mon - stay.”

Cold brass tolled.

“…I should go. It’s  _expected_ -”

The angel hardly resisted the gentle tug. Sighing, he knelt in warm sheets.

“I can only stay a moment,” he whispered.

Indolent, the demon rolled, stretching. Squinting an eye open, he reached for the angel, trailing warm fingers over bare skin.

Below, a mother hurried her children. They were late.

Aziraphale ran a reverent hand through Crowley’s curls.

Crowley, closing his eyes at the touch, half rose.

On the other side of the city, parishioners knelt before hard wooden pews.

Crowley dipped, spine curving, to press his lips to warm skin. Bowing before the angel, he opened his mouth, trailing lazy kisses from hip to stomach, and then from chest to collar.

A priest placed his hand over a head bent in prayer.

Impatient fingers wound through the demon’s hair, tilting his head until his yellow, half-lidded gaze turned upwards.

A red robed choir, dwarfed by the stained mosaic at their backs, sang the first notes of an ethereal harmony as Aziraphale dragged Crowley up, kissing a decadent path along his jaw.

The bells sighed tired, quieting knells.

Clutching at his angel, Crowley turned his face into Aziraphale’s chest. Against pale skin, he murmured, quiet. “Angel. You -,” he shivered, “You want this?”

Angel and demon faced one another as pale morning light carved out the sliver of space between them.

At the church, the sun rose, glaring through stained glass as the choir hit a high, tremulous note.

The angel moved.

Sunlight flickered and disappeared as he closed the space between them. Knees sinking into the mattress, he held his demon, kissing him with all the devotion of a priest at prayer.

As the heady notes of the organ joined in, accompanying the choir, angel and demon pressed together, trailing hurried, desperate kisses over lips and skin.

Organ notes fading, fifty voices in the choir rose up. Chests heaving, the singers chanted, faces reddening as they drew sharp breaths, trilling increasingly wild, frantic notes until-

The lovers fell.

Legs tangled, they plunged, rolling as one into soft sheets.

The bells had long since silenced.

In their place - shuddering, reverential breaths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr!
> 
> [goodomensblog](https://goodomensblog.tumblr.com/)  
> or  
> [just-quintessentially-me](https://just-quintessentially-me.tumblr.com/) (main)


	2. Decadence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Cleaning the other person’s lips with a lick and a kiss.
> 
> Or - Aziraphale runs out of patience.

Seven and a half days after the Not-Quite-Apocalypse, the sun was shining, birds were singing, and an angel and demon strolled through St. James Park, their arms brushing - yet not quite fully touching.

They chatted about inane, silly things in the carefree way that only those who’ve nearly caused, then stopped the imminent apocalypse can. And while they did so, Aziraphale studied his companion. It was impossible not to notice the long, lingering glances repeatedly turned in the angel’s direction, even if Crowley thought he was being discreet behind those dark glasses.

Also impossible to ignore were the aborted touches. Aziraphale had observed Crowley on _multiple occasions_ , move as though he were about to reach out and touch him, only to avert his hand in favor of rubbing his head or scratching his nose.

 _Infuriating_  was what it was.

It had been a week since the not-apocalypse. Seven days, thirteen hours, and thirty-six minutes of Crowley  _waffling_  about - and Aziraphale had had enough.

Something _must_  be done.

As it so happened, they were eating ice cream. Or rather, Aziraphale was eating ice cream. Crowley had selected a decidedly inferior popsicle upon which to gnaw as they walked.

Being late in the morning, the sun had burned away the layer fog, and what had started as a relatively brisk walk had turned warm. Suffering the change in weather, Crowley’s popsicle sweat fat red drops. And when Crowley lifted it to his lips, a single droplet fell from popsicle. Sliding down the demon’s lips, it settled in the crease at the corner of his mouth.

Never let it be said the angel Aziraphale is not an opportunist.

Holding his ice cream safely aside, Aziraphale sought Crowley’s attention with a soft touch. The effect was instant. Halting where he stood, Crowley turned, dark brows lowering behind even darker glasses.

Rising ever so slightly on his toes, Aziraphale held Crowley’s arm - and  _licked_  the sweet drop from his skin.

The demon froze, going still as the dark park statues burning beneath the sun.

Inspired, Aziraphale rose up again. This time, planting a kiss on sugar stained skin. Not one to do things by half measures, Aziraphale pressed a serious, lingering kiss to Crowley’s equally sticky lips - then licked them for good measure.

At which point, Crowley made a noise.

As noises go, this was one of those which really does defy description; but if one were to nonetheless try, they might say the noise was a unique blending of shock, awe, unimaginable pleasure, and was unfortunately reminiscent of helium escaping on overfull balloon and the death rattle of a mortally wounded duck.

Extremely satisfied with all he’d accomplished Aziraphale stepped back.

Crowley stood, sunglasses sliding down his nose, still doing an impressive impersonation of a park statue - in his case, fortunately without the decorative bird droppings.

Aziraphale licked his ice cream as he turned, walking at a very slow stroll so that Crowley might have time to snap out of it and catch up.

Aziraphale was nearly at their usual bench when he heard Crowley’s distant gasp.

“ _Angel!_ ” he called, and with a  _pop_ of displaced air, Crowley miracled away the short distance between them.

Tossing the popsicle aside, he reached for Aziraphale, and with a careful breath, leaned in. Cradling the angel’s face, the demon proceeded to worship his lips with a decadent, popsicle flavored kiss.

Bright sunlight danced on the lake, birds sang tittering melodies, and melting ice cream dripped over a distracted angel’s fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...interesting side note: the Latin root of "decadence" means to sink or fall down. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr!
> 
> [goodomensblog](https://goodomensblog.tumblr.com/)  
> or  
> [just-quintessentially-me](https://just-quintessentially-me.tumblr.com/) (main)


	3. Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 32: A kiss so passionate, so perfect that after they part, neither person can open their eyes for a few moments afterwards.
> 
> This one's short but sweet :)

_Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?_

That had been one of good old William’s lines, and it ended up being a rather famous one too. Though Crowley couldn’t help but feel it was a little - well, honestly a little lacking.

Crowley liked Shakespeare’s stuff - he did. Granted, not as much as Aziraphale liked it. But Crowley could acknowledge the guy had talent.

No, the problem was, the line just wasn’t  _enough._

It wasn’t enough because Aziraphale had kissed him. And no part of Aziraphale nor the kiss he’d given could be described so simply.

It was at their park, on their bench, on an overcast day in June when Aziraphale had leaned suddenly forward and taken Crowley’s thoroughly unsuspecting lips in a kiss.

If Crowley had been capable of rational thought, he might have stopped time. He wasn’t - and it didn’t really matter anyway. The world carried on around them, even as they forgot it existed.

 _No_ , Crowley had distantly thought, just a summer’s day was not enough to describe  _this_.

If Aziraphale  _were_ a summer’s day, then he was the wind. A perfect summer’s breeze, caressing and warm, carrying the sweet smells of earth and sun as it whispered lovingly against heat kissed skin.

If Aziraphale were a summer’s day, then he was summer lighting, dancing and dangerous upon the horizon, equally capable of beauty and destruction. And waiting for Aziraphale’s every touch was the breathless moment before the low, eager rumble of thunder.

If Aziraphale were a summer’s day, then he was the wildflowers climbing from the sun cracked earth - colorful, beautiful; achingly ephemeral. Because a kiss was but a moment, and Crowley wouldn’t be satisfied with anything but eternity.

And as all things end, so too did the kiss. In the aftermath, angel and demon held one another, eyes closed and foreheads touching.

There was no poetry in existence capable of describing the extent of his feelings, so Crowley said, simply:

“Angel, you are the summer of my existence.”

Aziraphale smiled, radiant. Cupping Crowley’s face, he kissed him once more, and so again came summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr!
> 
> [goodomensblog](https://goodomensblog.tumblr.com/)  
> or  
> [just-quintessentially-me](https://just-quintessentially-me.tumblr.com/) (main)


	4. Garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Kissing tears from the other’s face.

The angel was in a garden. Not to be mistaken with THE garden, just - a garden. Overgrown and untended, it contentedly occupied an empty lot in the West End of London, not far from the angel’s bookshop.

In this garden, the angel knelt. He cradled a small, cloth bound bundle in his open palms. The primrose by his knee shifted in interest, while the glossy leaved maple pretended as though it wasn’t shivering curiously overhead.

The demon found Aziraphale as he, with a few whispered words, lowered the bundle into a shallow, bird-sized hole in the earth. 

“This one’s been singing outside my shop for nearly ten years,” said Aziraphale, who had sensed the demon’s arrival in much the same way as the primrose perceives the coming dawn. 

“I thought about using half a miracle to give it a second life,” Aziraphale admitted, sniffling.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Didn’t seem right, I suppose. She had one full life already. Who am I to give her two?”

“Fair enough,” Crowley said, and knelt with a sigh. Cupping his hands, he helped the angel scoop handfuls of dirt into the shallow hole.

When Crowley glanced up, his scooping slowed. 

“You’re crying, angel.”

“Yes well, they always did say not to get attached.”

“You know Heaven only says that because they think they’re better than everyone and everything down here.” Crowley’s hands brushed the angel’s as they packed the dirt. “But you don’t - think you’re better.”

Aziraphale heaved a quiet breath and gave the dirt a final pat. “No. No I don’t.”

In the boughs above, a lone starling whistled a mournful melody.

“Do you think,” Aziraphale said, blue eyes lifting to the bird, “Celestial beings - angels - are able to exist for an eternity because we - they choose to remain aloof, rather than feel?” He braced a hand on wet soil. “It  _does_ hurt.”

“It sure does.”

“…but I don’t think I could stop - feeling. Even if I wanted to. I’ve always, well-” Aziraphale paused, listening to the warbling song. “I’ve always been a bit soft, I think.” 

Crowley’s hand rested near his; their fingers were nearly brushing.

Crowley’s fingers twitched, and then Aziraphale was shifting his hand. As their fingertips brushed, Crowley leaned in.

Soft lips trailed kisses down one tear streaked cheek. Then the other. “Soft’s not so bad,” he hummed against skin. “And there’s plenty more to feel than just pain.”

“Show me, Crowley,” the angel beseeched.

The demon obliged.

In the garden, a second birdsong joined the first; and in the spaces between where their fingers touched, wild flowers sprouted and bloomed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr!
> 
> [goodomensblog](https://goodomensblog.tumblr.com/)  
> or  
> [just-quintessentially-me](https://just-quintessentially-me.tumblr.com/) (main)


End file.
